Drunken Musings
by seekingtomorrow
Summary: During which Fletcher realizes that unrequited love is exactly that.  Unrequited.  Nikita/Owen "blooming" friendship


**Drunken Musings**

**SUMMARY: **During which Fletcher realizes that unrequited love is exactly that. Unrequited. Nikita/Owen "blooming" friendship.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I was going to make this solely about Fletcher, but Owen's awesomeness crept in and forced me to write a few scenes with him and Nikita.

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Nikita. Wish I did. If I did, I'd make Owen a regular character.

* * *

><p>"Can I get another scotch on the rocks?"<p>

The drink is placed in front of him. "Rough day?" The bartender inquires in a tone laced with something akin to understanding.

Fletcher eyes the man. He looks genuinely sympathetic to his plight and has probably acted as a pseudo-therapist to many other schmucks like him. Fletcher decides to humour the man.

"So, there's this girl-" he starts off.

"Say no more, my good fellow," the bartender cajoles as he places another tumbler full of whiskey in front of Fletcher. "On the house. Trust me, you'll need it."

Fletcher raises a brow. The bartender, sensing Fletcher's unspoken question, explains, "Lots of men have been in here, crying over 'the one that got away.' So," he examines Fletcher, "tell me your story."

"I don't have a story," Fletcher puts forth.

"Everybody has a story," the bartender insists.

Fletcher sighs in near-exasperation. "I don't even know where to begin!"

"Start where all good stories do. At the very beginning."

And with that, Fletcher takes a deep breath and starts his angst-ridden tale.

"Okay, imagine this girl. Say her name is…Nicole. Nicole is gorgeous, she's independent, determined, intelligent. Nicole is like, the freaking epitome of perfection. And then there's her idiotic partner. Who is not me, by the way. Let's call him…Odie."

"Hang on," the bartender holds up a wizened hand, "Your girl, I mean Nicole, is married? Tough."

"Oh god, no!" Fletcher shakes his head to rid himself of the mental image. "No way. Odie is Nicole's business partner. They're kind of tentative friends, I would say."

"Oh. Continue."

"Anyways, Nicole and Odie knew each other before they met me-"

"Ahh…lovers with a history?" the bartender comments wisely, nodding apathetically. "Must have been difficult to bear."

Fletcher rolls his eyes indignantly. "Can I please finish? Or at least get a decent start?"

"My apologies. Carry on, I'm listening."

"Thank you. Anyways, as I was saying, Nicole and Odie had some history. I'm assuming it wasn't anything deep or scandalous, but it was there. Or at least it was when I first met the two of them…"

* * *

><p>"Wait, wait, wait," the bartender interrupts Fletcher's monologue. "Lemme get this straight. You were at a shady club with some dudes that were your friends."<p>

"Yup," answers Fletcher.

"Then, you decided to go into the alley-way to get some air."

"Exactly."

"However, out of nowhere, these burly guys came out of the shadows and grabbed you. They blamed you for a drug deal that went sour," the bartender confirms, disbelievingly.

Instead of answering, Fletcher nods.

The bartender continues. "These gorillas proceed to insist that your buds were the ones who accused you."

"I know. Awful assholes."

"No shit, Sherlock," the bartender sarcastically comments, "and this Nicole girl saved your life?"

"That she did. Believe it or not, she knocked out one of those goons with her purse."

The bartender stares at Fletcher skeptically. "So, Nicole and her bumbling, but brawny partner, Odie, saved your hide from getting a massive beat-down."

Fletcher frowns slightly at the memories plaguing his thoughts. "Yeah, they did. But they did get caught up in the conflict, intentionally."

And Fletcher continues this tale of Nikita-Nicole's daring escape from the…jail.

* * *

><p>"Tell me why we're here, again."<p>

"I told you. We need to keep an eye on Ryan!"

In another corner of the dimly-lit bar and lounge, Owen and Nikita occupy a rather cozy booth.

"Psh. This is the super important mission you were harping on me about? Sounds more like a thinly veiled attempt at getting a certain someone's attention. Not to mention your choice of attire. Did you really have to wear such a short dress?" Owen questions while motioning toward Nikita's vermillion mini-dress.

"Well, excuse me," Nikita fires back, "I'm trying to blend in with the crowd."

Owen chortles. "Blending in with the crowd?" he echoes. "Judging by the ton of drinks bought for you by random men, I'd say you're not doing a very good job."

"Judging by the lack of drinks bought for you by random women, I'd say that you're just jealous," Nikita retorts.

Before Owen can scoff back, one of the leggy waitresses appears at their table carrying a tray laden with several brightly coloured drinks. To his immense surprise, she sets one of them in front of Owen.

"One Caesar, compliments of table 12," she says, smiling enigmatically as she gestures to one of the tables.

Giving Nikita a _what do you think of me now _smirk, Owen takes the drink and thanks the waitress.

"Really Nikita?" Owen remarks smugly, "Jealous? I think not."

Nikita rolls her eyes and retaliates, "Owen, did you even look at the person at table 12?"

Owen looks. And nearly chokes. At table 12 sits a very flamboyantly dressed male. He catches Owen's eye and winks, giving Owen the universal hand gesture for _call me_. Owen then looks at the napkin accompanying the drink. Sure enough, there's a phone number etched on it.

Owen turns to Nikita, a terrified expression gracing his oh-so-manly visage as he hisses, "Not another word."

* * *

><p>"Okay, so to sum it all up, Nicole and Odie escaped from the jail."<p>

"Yes," Fletcher confirms tiredly.

"Then, they practically disappear from your life."

"That's what I said."

"But, Nicole leaves you with her phone number."

"Affirmative," Fletcher puts forth in a monotone voice.

"However, two weeks later, Nicole calls you and asks you to help her hack into someone's laptop. Which is illegal," the bartender admonishes.

"Yes. And out of all the things I've mentioned, like drug dealing, escaping prisons, getting involved with gangs, public fighting with weapons, and you choose to tell me that hacking is illegal?" Fletcher nearly yells. He takes a deep breath and explains, "It was her…ex-boyfriend's laptop. He was kind of a pretentious dick-face."

"So what happened?" The bartender questions Fletcher, urging him to continue.

"After I helped her, she stopped speaking to me."

"Yow. That sounds cold."

"Oh you have no idea. But, one day, she approached me at a bar and thanked me for my help."

The bartender snorted. "She doesn't sound very perfect to me."

Fletcher glared at the bartender, arguing, "She's the strongest person I've ever met!"

"Well I guess it's all a matter of opinion."

"Damn right it is," Fletcher mutters, still half-angry.

"What did she do after that, then? Did she just disappear again?"

"Well…she left. But right before she left, she kissed me."

"No-

* * *

><p>"-way. Absolutely not!" Owen protested.<p>

"Why not?" Nikita asked in a jesting manner.

"Listen Nikki, we've been over this! I am not coming with you on another Fletcher stakeout."

"Owen…" Nikita takes on a warning tone.

"Nikita…" Owen mimics.

"Remember, Owen?" Nikita scolds him, "My rules. Now you say it."

"…your rules."

"Good boy."

* * *

><p>"If she kissed you, she must be into you, right?" The bartender muses aloud.<p>

"Not necessarily. I haven't seen her since," Fletcher says dejectedly.

The bartender says nothing, most likely pitying Fletcher's sad lack of love life.

The silence gives Fletcher unwanted time to think, to mull over the events that transpired, especially between Owen and Nikita on that plane.

_We're not partners_ says Owen and Fletcher swears his heart soars a lot farther than it should. In that split second, he imagines being Nikita's partner, the two of them working together, and maybe, just maybe-

_Yes, we are _Nikita responds in a defiant voice, almost as if she was challenging Owen to say otherwise.

And there goes Fletcher's fantasies. Now he'll never get the chance to be her knight in shining armor, her prince charming, her-

"Do you…love her?"

Fletcher starts as the bartender's kind voice snaps him out of his reverie.

"Do you love Nicole?" The bartender asks, mistaking Fletcher's silence for hesitation.

Fletcher only thinks for a split second, recalling Nikita, her beauty and her bravery. Without a shred of doubt, he answers. "Yes, yes. I am in love with her. But, she doesn't feel that way about me and she never will because-"

"Is she happy?" The bartender inquires seriously.

"Happy?"

"Yes, happy."

"Uhhh…I guess so."

"Then that's all that should really matter to you. If you really love Nicole, then you would put her happiness above your own selfish desires," the bartender says in a wise tone.

"Oh," Fletcher is slightly shocked, as he never really thought about Nikita's love life. Maybe she already has someone she loves.

Fletcher sighs, putting his head down on the bar. The bartender smiles at him, amicably jesting. "There's a lot you need to figure out about women, pal. Trust me."

* * *

><p>"Owen?" A lilting inquiry.<p>

"Hmmm?" A tired response.

"Err…thanks for helping me out tonight." A bashful smile. "I know you probably had much better things to do than babysit a grown man with me." A nervous laugh.

"No problem, Nikki." A smirk. "I wouldn't miss seeing you in a hot dress any day." A leer.

"Owen…" A mock-stern tone and a glare.

A sigh.

"Your rules."

**-fin-**


End file.
